“Because you’re not.” Wes returned the whiskey bottle to the glass shelf behind him and picked up a deep blue vodka bottle. “Frieda and Gordon were in here earlier.”
“You can’t just say no without hearing me out,” Abby said.
“I can.” Wes lifted his gaze to hers and tipped the top of the vodka bottle toward her. “And I just did.”
“What is wrong with you?” Frustration spilled into her words.
“That’s just it.” Wes grinned. But it wasn’t the teeth-revealing, amused kind of smile. It was the dual-sided kind, one part courteous, two parts elusive and all too intriguing. The man had secrets Abby wanted to unravel if she had the time. But a new job and a new baby required all her focus. Her interest in Wes was a brief glitch and nothing she intended to act on.
“Nothing is wrong with me.” Wes returned the bottle to the shelf. His polite but implacable grin never wavered. “And that’s exactly how I like things.”
“You make it sound like I’m here to mess things up for you.” When in fact he was the one messing things up for her. That was obvious. Less clear was how she was going to make him understand that.
“You, Abby James, complicate things.” Wes set a to-go cup on the bar and reached for the decaf coffeepot. One perfect, long pour filled the cup. Steam drifted from the hot brew. Something else drifted through his copper-tinted gaze. “You definitely complicate things.”
“I don’t need anything from you. I just need...” Abby accepted the to-go cup and took a sip. It was seriously unfortunate that it was one of the best cups of coffee she’d ever tasted. She would set up shop inside the bar for a continuous supply of decaf if not for this one provoking man. “It’s simple really. I just need your bar.”
“You want the bar?” His eyebrows rose as if he hadn’t expected that.
“And the restaurant,” Abby added.
He stilled. His gaze never left her face. He had such singular focus. She might’ve been flattered. If he wasn’t objecting and making it more difficult for her to secure a job that would start her chain reaction of personal triumphs. The very victories that would finally set her on that path to success.
“For an hour. At the most.” Abby rambled on, taking his silence as an invitation to keep pleading her case. She clutched the coffee cup and located her nerve.
He’d been telling her how it was going to be. How she didn’t belong in Three Springs. How she was temporary. Now, it was her turn to tell him a few truths. “I need to use the bar and grill at noon this Saturday. I’d also like you to provide appetizers too.”
His gaze narrowed. “For how many, exactly?”
Abby winced, the smallest break in her bravado. “What’s the current population of Three Springs?”
He inhaled, flattened his palms on the bar top and leaned toward her. “This sounds like it’s getting complicated.”
“There’s nothing complicated about it.” Abby set her cup on the bar and curved her fingers around his hands. “I need to have a meeting with the people of Three Springs. It needs to be here.”
“On Saturday.” His gaze drifted to their joined hands, held for several beats, before returning to her face. “As in two days from now.”
Abby reached for her own singular focus. But his fingers flexed beneath hers. And the warmth of his skin distracted her. She wanted to rearrange her grip, press her palm against his and test how well their hands fit together. She blinked, searched his gaze. Surely, that wasn’t heat she saw there too. She had to let go. Step back. She never moved. And couldn’t quite slow her racing pulse. “You have the only place large enough to host everyone.”
“But you don’t need me to do anything.”
Need him. Now her fingers tensed around his as if she needed to steady herself. He was a distraction she certainly did not need. “You’d have to arrange the food unless you want me to work with your chef directly.”
She tried to recall the matchmaking events she’d hosted. “You have to also coordinate your staff. Open the bar. Set up the microphone. A wireless one works best. But that’s all. I promise.”
He eased free of her grip, leaned against the back counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “You should always make sure you understand the promise you’re making before you make it.”
That wasn’t an answer. It was more like a prophecy. Abby opened and closed her mouth. She didn’t have time to take a deep dive into the particulars of a promise issued. A simple Yes, the place is yours or No would have sufficed.
The door behind the bar swung open. Boone stepped through and spread his arms wide. “Is that Eagle Springs’ new event planner?”
“Boone.” Abby rushed toward the older cowboy and wrapped him a tight hug. “How can I thank you?”
Boone patted Abby’s shoulder. “I believe you just did, darling.”
Abby eased away and quickly adjusted Boone’s cowboy hat. Her enthusiasm had knocked it askew. Chagrined, she apologized. “Sorry. I’m a hugger.”
“Never apologize for embracing life.” Boone linked their arms and guided her around the bar toward his usual stool. “Or hugging with all your heart. That’s the proper way to right a person’s entire day.”
Abby relaxed and found her first real smile of the afternoon. Clint, her ex and an up-and-coming newscaster, had avoided public displays of affection, usually citing his reputation. Someone is always watching and always recording, Abby. I have an image to maintain. Ironic Clint had forgotten his own decree when he’d shared an intimate embrace with another woman on their porch for all the neighbors and Abby to witness.
Boone waited for Abby to slide onto a stool before settling onto his own. “What brings you into the Owl today?”
“Wes and I are discussing the town meeting I’m going to have here on Saturday.” Abby aimed her triumphant grin at Wes.
“Town meeting, you say.” Boone set a bowl of roasted peanuts between them and scooped out a handful. “Can’t recall the last time we had one of those.”
“Then, it’s past due to have one.” Abby snapped a peanut shell open. “It’ll be the perfect way for me to start to plan the Labor Day weekend event.”
Boone popped several peanuts into his mouth and chewed. “What do you have in mind?”
“I already have a list of potential ideas.” Abby shook several peanuts in her palm. “Can you believe that? But I want to discuss them with everyone.”
“What if the town decides we don’t want an event?” Wes stretched out the word event as if it was stuck in his throat and placed an empty bowl next to Abby for her peanut shells.
Now Boone looked chagrined, staring at Wes.
Abby lost her smile again. No thanks to her cowboy. “Are you telling me the town is content coming here for their entertainment fix night after night? Week after week. Month after month.”
“Haven’t heard any complaints.” Wes shrugged.
“Doesn’t mean they aren’t complaining.” Abby crushed another shell in her fist.
Abby herself had a growing list of complaints against Wes. He was stubborn. Cynical. Arrogant. Worse, he disrupted her balance. Made her heart race. And he continued to intrigue her.
One thing gave her peace of mind. Romance wasn’t anywhere on her radar.
Besides, if she’d been looking for love, Wes certainly wasn’t the one she’d fall for. Falling in love was supposed to be full of rainbows and butterflies, not potholes and frustration.
Boone’s quick burst of laughter erupted around them. “Never thought I’d see the day when Wes was rendered speechless.”
Wes yanked a polishing cloth off a hook and scrubbed a spot on the bar. “We’re a small town, Abby. If you want more, you have to keep on driving east until you reach Amarillo. They have events every night. Every weekend. Every month.”
“It’s one weekend, Wes,” Abby countered. “I�
�m not altering the fabric of Three Springs. I’m planning an occasion as I was tasked to do by the town council, and obviously, I want the town’s input.”
“Then, you should have the meeting here.” Boone slapped his palm on the bar top like a judge with a gavel, declaring the trial over.
“Really?” Abby glanced between Boone and Wes.
“He owns the place.” Wes dumped the cracked shells into the trash behind the counter and returned the empty bowl to the bar.
“For now.” Boone’s words seemed to land like a lit firecracker between the two men.
Abby took in the silent standoff.
She wanted to smooth things over between them, except she didn’t know exactly what needed to be smoothed over. If Wes had been implacable before, he was downright rigid and completely closed off now.
She really wanted to take Wes’s hand. Offer another promise he wouldn’t accept. But, man, she wanted to reach for him. Reach him. For beyond his stiff jaw and unyielding posture, his gaze reflected something lonely.
But Wes had already called Abby a complication. She hardly wanted to become an interference too. Whatever it was between the two men, they’d have to solve it on their own. She had the first of her own personal victories to achieve and a job to secure. “Okay. Looks like I have a presentation to go and prepare. See you Saturday.”
“I’ll be here.” Boone patted Abby’s arm. “I’m looking forward to hearing what you have in mind for improving this town.”
Wes rolled his shoulders and picked up the coffeepot. He refilled Abby’s cup and pushed a lid on top. “I’ll talk to my chef about appetizers.”
“Nothing extravagant.” Abby accepted the cup and slipped off the stool. “Keep the menu simple.”
“What about you?” Wes tilted his head and eyed her. “Are you going to keep this Labor Day event simple?”
Abby shook her head and chuckled. “There’s nothing fun about simple.”
Wes rubbed his chin. He looked mildly uncomfortable, as if he’d swallowed a peanut shell.
What was fun was getting under Wes’s skin. “Oh, and Wes, not every complication is a bad thing.”
“What is it, then?” One corner of his mouth twitched, his expression blank.
“A complication can be a challenge.” She smiled, reveling in her determination. “And my Grandpa Harlan told me to never back down from a challenge.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“MAYBE EVERYONE IS running late.” Abby’s smile wavered, but her shoulders never dipped. “Or stuck in traffic.”
Or simply not coming. Wes checked the tropical-themed monthly calendar tacked on the wall next to the delivery schedule. Today was the second Saturday of the month. The Roots and Shoots Garden Club was meeting this afternoon. They started promptly at one o’clock. But like a tailgate for a national-championship football game, people started gathering for Roots and Shoots in the morning.
Lynette Kinney was hosting today’s club meeting and unveiling her newly renovated backyard, complete with a koi pond and an elaborate catio designed exclusively for her six cats. Lynette’s extravagant backyard had been the talk of the town for the past few months.
“I’ll be right back.” Wes pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. He nodded to Boone and Nolan Davis, his head chef, who were discussing the day’s specials. He pulled out his cell phone and stepped inside his office.
Frieda Hall answered on the first ring. “Martin, dearest, tell me you found the extra jars of homemade maple syrup and will be here within five minutes. The waffles are drying out as I look at them.”
“Frieda.” Wes rubbed his cheek. “It’s Wes Tanner, not your husband Martin.”
“Wes. Oh, well, where are you, then?” Frieda laughed. “The waffles are hot, and the fish are swimming. You’ll want to see this. It’s quite something. A bit more than I would’ve done, but that’s our Lynette...”
“I’m at the bar.” Wes closed the door to his office. “With Abby James.”
Frieda sucked in a breath. “Wes, you were supposed to set her straight about today. It’s what you do best.”
“Exactly what do I do best?” He stared at the ceiling, suddenly certain he didn’t want to know the answer.
“You tell it like it is.” Frieda rushed on. “You should consider it a gift, not a curse, by the way.”
And yet somehow it sounded more like an unfortunate trait of his. “What exactly am I supposed to tell Abby?”
“I liked Abby too much after our first encounter to tell her that no one would show up for her meeting. She was so endearing and so very excited. But everyone’s social calendar is already booked. You know how it is.” A shuffling of sorts echoed over the speaker. Frieda’s voice became a muffled yet urgent whisper. “The truth hurts sometimes, Wes. And I don’t like to be the one to burst bubbles. It’s not nice and hardly my style.”
Abby was hurting now. A fact Wes didn’t much care for. And apparently Wes was the town’s bubble-buster and now tasked with letting Abby down gently. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Abby has such a lovely spirit about her, Wes. Such a sincere sweetness.” Frieda sighed. “The world needs more kindness like hers.”
“Should I suggest Abby reschedule her town meeting?” Wes asked.
“Heavens, no.” Frieda’s voice lifted as if she clutched the phone closer to her mouth. “Between several milestone-birthday parties, a fiftieth wedding anniversary to celebrate and kickoff meetings for the kids’ football and soccer seasons, we can’t squeeze much more in.”
“Yet you want Abby to plan a big town event without the town’s input.” Wes frowned.
“That’s different.” Frieda laughed again and called out a greeting to a new arrival at the club gathering. “Wes, I must go. Let Abby know we trust her to put on a spectacular event. That’s why we hired her. Make sure to bring her over here. She’ll want to see this too. Koi. I never knew what those were. Quite pretty, really. And the covered patio for cats so they can be outside, but still inside. Who would’ve thought of such a thing?”
The line went dead. What was he supposed to do now?
He shoved his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and returned to the bar.
Abby clutched the wireless microphone looking like a lost songbird without a song. “No one is coming, are they?”
Wes winced. Some bubble-buster he was. “You already know the answer.”
Even Tess had slipped out earlier to meet a delivery truck at her store.
“Can’t you lie to me to make me feel better?” Abby aimed the microphone at him.
“It won’t help.” Neither would drawing her into his embrace and holding her tight. That was definitely a complication he didn’t want. Yet the urge to do just that wouldn’t fade. He opened the condiment tray, then grabbed a bamboo cutting board and a paring knife to slice fruit. If his hands remained busy, he wouldn’t accidently reach for her.
“It’s not helping to face the facts either.” She opened the carrying case and repacked the microphone.
“What facts are those?” Besides the fact that he had no business considering Abby as more than a passing acquaintance. More than a customer, despite not charging her for her daily cups of decaf coffee. Her bubble was already burst. His responsibility to her was over.
“The fact that you were right.” She snapped the lid closed and locked the microphone case. Her words snapped out next. “The town doesn’t want an event. Progress. Or more business.”
The sneer she had made her almost unrecognizable to him. He focused on what mattered to her. “The locals don’t know what they want. Maybe you need to show them.”
She flung her arm toward the stage and the blank screen she’d set up earlier. “What do you think was in the presentation?”
He hadn’t given it much thought. Not that she’d want to hear that. Or tha
t he’d given way more thought to how she’d feel inside his arms.
What was wrong with him?
Bubble-busters like him weren’t supposed to deal in emotions and sentiment. He cut a lime in half, then sliced it neatly and quickly into wedges. “Pick something and just do that.”
“What if it’s the wrong thing?” she countered.
“No one will show up.” There. His bubble-busting ways had returned. Still, he shrugged to cover his flinch and protect his insensitive facade.
“I don’t want to repeat today’s disaster.” Her stale tone was flat and dull.
“Tell me your ideas.” Wes picked up another lime and tossed it from one hand to the other as if that would shake loose his insistent urge to make things better for her. “I know the town. The people. I can help you pick the right one.”
“You don’t even want an event.” Abby pressed her palm against her forehead as if trying to rid herself of a headache. “You’ll pick the simplest, easiest, no-fuss option. The one-and-done event.”
Now who was telling it like it was? And there was nothing inherently wrong with one and done. Except it wasn’t what Abby wanted. Wes caught the lime and clenched the fruit in his fist. “Just show me your ideas.”
“Fine.” Abby walked to the small stage, rummaged through her oversize bag and yanked out a folder. She placed the folder on the bar top and set her palm against her head again.
Wes left the folder untouched and eyed her distress. “We can discuss this later.”
“There’s no time.” Abby inhaled and exhaled loudly for several seconds. “In terms of planning, Labor Day weekend’s right around the corner.”
“Lynette Kinney’s place is right around the corner too.” Boone stepped through the swinging door and reached for a pint glass. “Just heard the woman filled her pond with koi. That’s the wrong fish for fishing.”
“It’s a decorative backyard pond.” Wes set the lime on the cutting board.
Boone gaped at Wes. The soda sprayer poised over the pint glass but nothing coming out. “That’s nonsense.”
“People like the serenity.” Wes grabbed the sprayer and filled Boone’s glass with his favorite soda—a blend of vanilla cola and root beer.
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